


fledgling

by brightclam



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Missing Scene, part 2 ep 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 19:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10860243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightclam/pseuds/brightclam
Summary: Dizzee, emboldened by his near death experience, goes to visit Thor. They paint and dance and argue, and Dizzee begins to accept and express his love for Thor.





	fledgling

**Author's Note:**

> my first get down fic and I really wanted to get the feel of their relationship right so I've reread it about a thousand times. If anything is wrong, let me know.
> 
> some vaguely sexual stuff but nothing explicit. Also, mentions of death.

\-------

The city is bright today, the buildings washed out by the morning sun. The cars driving by act as slowed down strobe lights, reflected sunlight occasionally flashing and blinding him. He's surrounded by the comfortable hum of people, mostly strangers, but sometimes an acquaintance or a friend.

 

As he passes by an alley, he notices another one of the holes in the universe, a blank spot missing the life of the city. He steps into the shade and fixes it.

 

He paints badly when he’s nervous, and this time is no exception. Rumi is stretching out toward a light, a golden star, a small smile on his face. But the proportions are wrong: hand too big and eyes too small.

 

He's not getting any less nervous, so it's not going to get any better, and he doesn't have time to struggle with it. He signs his name and continues on. Leaving behind a piece he isn't happy with grates on him, but it's better than leaving the empty hole there.

 

He could take a cab, but he'd rather walk. He needs the air to rinse the feelings out of him: the fear of near death, the guilt of leaving Boo, the nervous anticipation of what'll happen once he gets to Thor.

 

They tell him Thor was there, not just a hallucination of his wishful, drugged mind. They tell him Thor was the one who kept him alive as they waited for the ambulances.

 

_ I'll keep you safe. _

 

But still, he's unsure. Partially because he doesn't know how Thor will react to him, after watching him almost die. But also because he doesn't know how he'll react when he sees Thor.

 

The buildings get squatter, the city shrinking in height and spreading out in width. These buildings are utilitarian, efficient: factories and warehouses, with occasional apartment buildings sprinkled throughout. His backpack is beginning to cut into his shoulder, but he's almost there now.

 

He reaches the address given to him and stares up at the small brick building. It’s strange, it looks just like all the others; Dizzee had almost expected it to stand out. A golden glow, a neon sign, a monstrous doorman, anything other than this unexceptional front. 

 

It doesn't fit Thor: the whole world warms and when he’s there, colors glowing brighter, the holes in the universe closing slightly. Dizzee shakes himself out of his daze; no reason to stand here thinking about Thor when he could be go inside and see him instead.

 

He stares at the door, nervousness sitting heavy in his stomach. but there's a light, happy anticipation as well, like colors climbing up through his chest, intertwining with his ribs and tasting like sugar on his tongue.

 

He reaches out to knock on the door, and the entire world seems to pause and watch; a breeze blows through the empty street, sending leaves scuttling across the sidewalks with a dry rat-tat-tat-tat, like a rapid, hollow drumbeat. Dizzee’s heart joins the percussion, thudding in his chest and thrumming in his temples. 

 

He feels almost sick with it; anticipation and tension sending blood rushing from his lovesick heart through his veins, throbbing in the pulse points on his neck and wrists. He feels naked, like just knocking pulled him open and presented him to Thor wholeheartedly. His speeding pulse marks where to pin him down like a butterfly on display.

 

This is it; this is important, in a way he doesn't fully understand yet. This is his wings unfurling, young feathers stretching out and tasting wind for the first time. 

 

Then the door opens and the world crashes back into normal time, Dizzee’s breaths coming too fast, fear making his legs tremble.

 

And Thor is there, not as perfect as he had been in the club, stray hairs in his face and a smudge of paint on his cheek. This too takes Dizzee’s breath away; perfect Thor is the glimmer of a new paint can, promise of the future and an unknown that you look forwards to learning. This Thor is the crumbling wall you paint on, dependable, beautiful not because it is perfect but because it is imperfect.

 

Dizzee is afraid. He has loved his art for years, that is a familiar ache by now. He has loved his brothers with the slow burning of coals for almost as long. But this love is a wildfire, dangerous, perhaps deadly, but undeniably beautiful. He loves Thor like he loves his art, and he wonders which will kill him first.

 

Thor smiles, pink lips curving up, and shifts to lean out of the door. His hip is pressed against the doorframe and he beams at Dizzee, body language open and inviting. Dizzee understands why the girl in the club was always touching him, why Pakoussa smiled at him when he spoke. He’s so welcoming, he practically begs people to love him, and doesn't even notice it. 

 

Dizzee, always the outsider, hidden and protected by his curtain of “weird”, is drawn in by Thor’s alien gravity. He sways forwards before he even knows it, body leaning forwards to touch. He stops himself in time, but it's close. 

 

The echo of what could have just been, their chests pressed together, their arms wrapped around each other, is thundering loud in his head. But there’s still that fear holding him back; the bird unsure of its wings, afraid to jump from the nest and fly.

 

And Thor speaks:

 

“Dizzee.”

 

When he says it, he says it like a prayer or an incantation, as if Dizzee is something to be treasured, something wonderful. Hearing Thor say his name, Dizzee can't help but wonder if Thor sees him just as beautiful as he sees Thor.

 

“Thor.”

 

Saying his name feels like a vow, curls out of Dizzee’s lips like smoke. They stare at each other another moment, as if they had said something meaningful that required thought, rather than just their names.

 

Thor is the first one to break the spell, but he's still moving slowly, as if time was as thick as honey. Watching the play of the light and shadows over his face, Dizzee could believe it; what else could suit Thor than a sweet, golden world of honey.

 

“Well, come on in.”

 

He gestures towards the open door, beckoning Dizzee into the dark. He turns and leads Dizzee into the hallway. He's wearing a pink shirt with holes in the back, small, but enough for Dizzee to watch the play of muscles underneath his skin.

 

The dark fades into a dim grey light. They enter the main room. Dizzee stares at the fabric draped room in wonder. Thor laughs, embarrassed, and kicks at an empty paint can on the floor. 

 

“I'm sorry it's such a mess.”

 

It’s beautiful, like an unfinished sketch, an idea just waiting to be brought to life. 

 

“No, no…”

 

Dizzee spins, to look at all of the room. Raises a hand as if to touch the nearest wall, covered in a hall finished painting, bright colors exploding out of the white sheet.

 

“This is  _ amazing. _ How did you think of the sheets? I covered my walls in paper, but they always fall off.”

 

Thor laughs again, proud instead of embarrassed, and runs a hand through the half attached sheet hanging next to him. The fabric ripples over his fingers, falling like a coarse veil.

 

“I used to just paint on the walls, but that meant I had to cover up all my previous work, I couldn't keep anything. With the sheets I can paint like it's a wall, but then I can just take the sheet down and put up another one.”

 

Dizzee brushes his finger over the sheet, longing to try it. He’s only rarely painted on fabric, usually clothes. But even with that little experience he has he knows that painting on fabric is an entirely different experience. 

 

He turns back to Thor, asking with his eyes. He wants to paint here, not just because of the set up, but because it’s Thor’s. They've already shared their books, this is only the next step.

 

Thor understands instantly and stumbles forwards. He starts dragging canisters of spray paint off of the low, metal shelves around the edge of the room.

 

“Um, yeah! Here’s all my paint, I just went out and got some more yesterday.”

 

Dizzee steps forwards, the thin tin canisters with their cheap plastic caps calling to him, but trips before he reaches them. He looks down and notices the mattress lying on the ground. 

 

“Oh, that's my bed. It, um, looks a little dingy.”

 

It's splattered with every color of paint, and the paint seems to come to life and dance across the room like the disco lights. Dizzee jerks forwards, grasping for the paint, his mind filled with the colors and ideas.

 

“No, it's...I need to...paint—”

 

Thor hands him the can he's struggling with, their fingers brushing. Dizzee looks up, breath catching, and Thor is looking back. Really looking, his eyes tracing and retracing every line of Dizzee’s face. 

 

That's what really makes Dizzee’s blood sing, knowing that Thor is looking at him the same way Dizzee looks at Thor. He’s looking and understanding, sees the sparking wires of Dizzee’s brain and doesn't look away from the fire hazard. Doesn't look away from the alien inside of Dizzee, instead trying to coax it out of him. Doesn't looks away from Dizzee’s lips, blue stained by the club lights, or from Dizzee’s eyes, hypnotized and hesitant. 

 

_ We’ve got telepathy. _

 

As Dizzee shakes the canister of paint, purple, Thor’s eyes begin to glow and dance with the paint spots spinning around the room. And the pulsing blue energy doesn't stay trapped in his eyes, it grows through him, slipping through his veins, leaving blue streaks down his pale torso. 

 

Dizzee gasps, struggling to pull in air, and runs to the wall. He paints the blue pulsing in Thor on the sheet, a quick sketch so he can capture it before it disappears. Sometimes the visions do that, or sometimes they take days to fade away.

 

It's calming, painting, and he hears Thor settle down on the mattress to watch him. 

He begins to paint the familiar lines of Rumi’s suit, the purple flowing easily. He does something different this time, adds bright pink streaks of light on the suit, the way the club’s red lights had reflected off the free people. 

 

He moves onto Rumi’s face, testing the green. He frowns at it and steps away from the wall, muttering.

 

“Now, I like this green. But there's a green I like better.”

 

He begins to rummage through the paint cans, but he isn't seeing it. He knows Thor has it, they bought it together a week ago.

 

“I'm right here.”

 

Thor rattles the can, tipping it towards Dizzee. Dizzee smiles at him, slightly embarrassed. It's the first time Thor has spoken since he started painting, and it seems like a plea that Dizzee remember that he's there.

 

“I'm painting.”

 

It's meaningless words, but he knows Thor will understand. He understands how important this is to him.

 

“And I want you to paint but I don't want you to die.”

 

“Is this about my Ed Koch idea?”

 

It's an old argument, not one Dizzee wants to get into right now.

 

“Dizz, I don't want you bombing no more.”

 

“What, because you got unlucky one time? No way, bro.”

 

It's too casual, but Dizzee’s on the defensive. It's too casual for the aching days spent separated, for the scars glimmering on Thor’s forearms where the dogs tore into him.

 

“And the dogs up there got Team. And the barbed wire. It's like nazis and all that.”

 

Thor steps forwards, painfully earnest, something shining in his eyes. It's his own past pain and the fear of Dizzee’s future pain. Dizzee appreciates the concern, but he knows that he could never stop making his art. And the trains are important, they're the most visible, they're what he needs to make a statement, to make people see.

 

“Believe me, I know how hard the mayor’s cracking down.”

 

“That's why we have to fight back. Vive la revolution, remember?”

 

Dizzee wants Thor to understand this, that even with the magnetic force pulling them together, nothing is more important than the art. 

 

Thor smiles and nods, dropping his head. It's a concession, the endless energy that is Thor bowing to the raging fire that is Dizzee and his art all wrapped up into one.

 

“I remember.”

 

Dizzee smiles sadly, Thor’s fear and their argument aching inside of him, making him want to help fix it. He reaches out for the paint Thor brought him.

 

“My red devil avocado.”

 

Thor tilts the can, spraying the green onto Dizzee’s palette. The light he'd put up to help Dizzee work reflects off his face, mixing with the blue shadows and highlighting him with the same green as the paint.

 

Dizzee dips the paintbrush into the green, and that aching pushes him into motion. He reaches out with the brush, aiming for Thor’s cheekbone. Thor pulls away at first, then stills and lets Dizzee leave a streak of green across his cheek. It's a simple motion, but it has meaning too; pressing Rumi green into Thor’s skin, giving him that part of Dizzee, marking him as his.

 

“There you are. Looks better now.”

 

Thor grins larger, beaming at Dizzee as he turns back to his work, filling in Rumi’s eyes. The blue energy in him is pulsing brighter now, as if Dizzee hasn't quite put that vision to rest, as if painting it on fabric wasn't good enough. It's dazzling and distracting, setting his senses on fire.

 

His hands begin tremble as he paints and when he looks down at himself, he’s glowing too. Elegant curves of purple, accents of pink, splotching the backs of his hands and, he can feel it, his face as well. The purple-pink arches under his eyes and around the curve of his jaw. He is covered in it, in the colors of Rumi and the free people.

 

The vision is so beautiful, he has to make it real. He wants to be himself, let the alien inside out, wants to wear Rumi’s suit on his own skin. He shifts the aim of the paint and sprays the purple over the back of his hand, jumping at the cold paint settling into his skin.

 

Thor makes a startled noise, but quickly shushes himself and continues watching Dizzee coat his other hand. Dizzee spins, reaching for a brush to paint his face in the purple, and sees Thor. He’s staring at Dizzee as if he’s unlocking the secrets of the universe, opening up the truth of the world, and maybe he is. Thor stares at him in awe, as if he were a prophet set down to earth and Thor can hear his call.

 

Dizzee spins back to the wall for a moment, considering. Only rarely does someone try to understand him, and even then they usually don't. Thor has so far, but no one has ever been able to see the way Dizzee does, and he's never tried to show them. It's something wild and beautiful, not to be shared lightly. 

 

He turns back to Thor, and wants to show him, make him see the blue pulsing in his body. He stops and stares closer: something else has joined the blue, something glowing gold. It pulses in his stomach, a shining star. It seems like an omen, pushing him to share the visions with Thor.

 

Dizzee steps forwards entranced. Thor is watching him, glowing eyes intense, and whispers:

 

“What do you see?”

 

Dizzee steps in close, as close as they were in the club, and stares at the glowing veins illuminating Thor.

 

“You're glowing, like a star.”

 

Just barely, he can see Thor shiver. The light pulses as he does, glowing brighter though the thin fabric of his shirt. Dizzee reaches out, fingers brushing Thor’s shoulder, gripping the pink fabric. 

 

“It’s...muffled...I could see it better, without this on. Could you take it off?”

 

Thor gasps, just slightly, a soft puff of air. His lips are parted, shining pink amongst the blue energy tracing his skin. 

 

“Yeah, I can—”

He stops, focuses on pulling the shirt off. His body twists as he does, the elegant convolutions of a snake, hair flying as he pulls the fabric over his head. Dizzee stares at the new expanse of skin, a canvas he's never had before. The energy is so clear now, horizontal lines of blue, the golden star glimmering in his stomach. 

Dizzee want to paint it, but he stops suddenly. The call of the art is overwhelming, but he can still hear the alarms in his head, like the wail of fire engines late at night.

Thor notices his hesitation, wraps his arms around himself in a defensive curl.

“It doesn't have to mean anything.”

It doesn't. It could just be painting, fulfilling the vision exploding through his brain. Or it could be more and still mean nothing; the beautiful girl had kissed them both without care or jealousy.

_ If you an alien, you gotta not apologize for being an alien. _

“I want it to mean something.”

It's the first step off the cliff, wings spread but unsteady. It's a confession, a dangerous one, like a punch to the gut. But Thor smiles, and the world doesn't crash down around them. There is no denunciation here, only Thor smiling as if Dizzee and handed him a million dollars.

Dizzee slumps with relief, and Thor puts out a hand to steady him, fresh, pink scars speckling his forearms. Once he's back on his feet, Thor takes a step back and spreads his arms, exposing all of his canvas to Dizzee.

“Paint me, Dizzee. I want to know what you see.”

Dizzee steps forwards, back into the world of spinning energy. In his left hand he holds the container of paint, in the right, the brush. He's ready.

He reaches out with the hand holding the brush, presses his fingers to Thor’s neck. He can feel his pulse, beating as fast as his own, the source of the energy pulsing through him. He’s warm, his golden glow rising from his skin as body heat.

Dizzee slides his fingers down his neck, landing on one of his collarbones. The brush trails after, tickling Thor’s cheek and making him huff out a laugh. His collarbone is tough in comparison to his soft skin, the sharp jut of uneven sidewalk panels.

He runs his hand down his chest, through the gently sloping valley between his pecs, over the bulge of his rib cage, down to the soft curve of his stomach. He presses his palm against his belly button, almost able to feel the golden star pulsing underneath the skin. 

Thor is breathing unevenly, Dizzee can feel it in the rise and fall of his stomach. His eyes are hooded, pupils dilated as he watches Dizzee. Dizzee runs his hand over the curve of his hip and gently pushes him, spinning him around so he’s touching his back.

He runs his fingers up the crease of his spine, tracing the lines of blue energy. He’s sketching with his fingers, pressing his vision into Thor’s skin. 

He reaches the back of Thor’s neck, golden hair falling about his shoulders. Gently, he moves it out of his way, curling the ends around his fingers. Thor makes a quiet noise then, encouraging Dizzee to run his fingers through his hair. Dizzee marvels at the flow of the soft strands through his fingers, digging his fingers in deeper, drawing more sighs out of Thor.

Finally, he leaves the hair alone and traces his fingers back down his neck. He runs the brush over Thor’s shoulder a couple times, testing the weight of it. Then he pushes on his shoulder, turning him back around. 

Thor looks at him, dazed, lashes brushing his cheekbones as he blinks. He lips move, slightly, as if he want to speak but doesn't know what to say. Dizzee presses a finger to his lips, entranced by the color and shape of them, shining bright against the blue energy. 

Thor swallows, doesn't press his lips any closer, but not pulling away either, letting Dizzee set the pace. Dizzee pulls his finger away, missing the soft skin already, but the energy is calling. Thor moans, low, and licks his lips.

Dizzee leans in, whispering in Thor’s ear, afraid to be too loud and break the spell that's fallen over them. He's half convinced he'll wake up any second, alone in his bed at home. 

“Is it okay if I start painting now?” 

“Go ahead.”

Dizzee smiles, a gentle quirk of his lips, a needless thank you. He dips the brush in the paint, lets the excess drop off, watching the energy twist within it. He presses the brush to Thor’s collarbone, and he jumps slightly at the new sensation.

He pulls the brush in elegant curves over Thor’s skin, following the lines he'd traced out before. The pattern begins to emerge, a dynamic, geometric meshing of lines. He's finished the blue lines on his front so he turns him around again. He has to peer over Thor’s shoulder to see where the lines need to connect, which presses their bodies together. Thor tenses for a moment, then relaxes, pressing back against Dizzee. Dizzee can feel his heat, even through his clothes. It makes him want to wrap himself around Thor, to stay like this, enveloped in his glow.

But the energy calls, and he pulls away, connecting the lines. Thor is carefully staying still, even though he can't see what Dizzee’s doing. Dizzee finishes the horizontal lines and steps back.

“Turn around so I can see it all?”

Thor does a slow spin, arms out, the wet paint glimmering even in the dim light. Dizzee holds out a hand for him to stop and he freezes, front facing Dizzee.

“One thing left.”

He step forwards and gets ready to paint the star on. He hesitates for a moment, and comes to a decision. He crouches, carefully, and presses a soft kiss to the unpainted patch of Thor’s stomach.

He can see Thor twitch, hear him gasp, but he's trying to stay still so he doesn't mess up the paint. Dizzee straightens up without looking Thor in the eye and begins painting, still avoiding his eyes. He feels like he's crossed a boundary, done something he maybe shouldn't have. 

He’s taken the first step off the cliff, and it's terrifying, but it's also bringing a new, burning want out of him. It's like when he first started painting, how he always had to take it to the next, more dangerous level, until he was bombing trains and dodging police. His art has almost split him off from his parents, he wonders what'll happen if they ever find about Thor, this new danger he's involved himself in.

He finishes the star and steps back, finally looking up to see Thor’s reaction. Thor blows him a kiss, as if answering the kiss on his stomach, and steps back further. Then he spins around again, showing off the final product. He’s staring down at himself as he spins, looking at Dizzee’s work with wonder, and not at all angry. 

There's a lump in his throat and his heart is beating too fast again.The room is only glowing brighter, spinning slowly, and Dizzee laughs. His world is on fire, burning with his art, his free self, and Thor. It's almost overwhelming. He spins with the room, words bubbling up in his throat.

Something tugs on his jacket and Thor whispers from behind him:

“Hey.”

Thor is holding a paintbrush, shimmering white paint dripping off it. 

Dizzee gasps, stares at Thor with wide eyes. He's tried to show Thor how he sees, he doesn't know if it worked or not, but now Thor is trying to return the favor. It's a level of understanding that he's only really ever gotten from Thor.

He grins at Thor, love spilling out of him, and nods.

“Yeah, yeah, do it, man.”

Theo begins running the paintbrush down his jacket and Dizzee wants to stay still but there's too much energy in him, he has to spin, keep up with the room. Thor doesn't complain, just keeps up with Dizzee as he loops around the room.

The room blurs as he dances and thinks and paints, with Thor watching or joining in. He can almost see his wings growing, spreading out, encompassing the whole room. And the words finally come bursting out of his throat, the words he'd kept inside his head and never said.

But in this room, free, with Thor listening and understanding, he wants to say them. His voice seems to echo, as if the room is growing larger, as if he really is a prophet with a booming, magical voice.

“I invented sounds for the culture!”

The throbbing of the beat is under his skin, singing with his brother’s voices, pulsing in time with the light of the room.

“I see the paint in my vision!”

He's adding yellow to his jacket, mixing in with the white Thor placed there. Thor giggles and throws a splotch of green at him. Dizzee retaliates, covering Thor’s elbow in orange. The orange glows brighter once it touches his skin and swirls like a living thing, wrapping around his arm.

“I see lights in the darkness!”

This room is filled with light, he's filled with light, Thor is glowing, and he knows outside the city is glowing too. Its people glow, the artists working on the walls, light spilling out of their paint cans. The artists singing in the clubs, light curling out of their lips and into the listener's ears. The writers and dreamers, thinking of their next pieces, brains shining with light.

“New York is my canvas!”

No one is going to stop him from making his art, not his parents, not his brothers, not Thor, not the police and their vicious dogs, not mayor Koch. He has a vision and they will not take that away from him.

“I'm ready to die now!”

Didn't he always know it would end that way? How many lives has he seen cut off, how many people actually make it out of the Bronx? How many more live but only barely, waiting for a bullet to end them, or an overdose, or a desiccated, abandoned building?

But he's going to go out burning, paint in his hands, and maybe some of light he sees will be seen by the others and they'll understand.

“And to see my first opera!”

And Thor, beautiful, bright, free Thor, will be at his side. He won't be able to save him or stop him, but he won't leave him, even seeing what will come from their art. Dizzee is finally free, ready to go to the opera, ready to love Thor the way he deserves to be loved, wholeheartedly.

He finally loses his words and just laughs, alive and gleeful. Then he loses his feet too and drops onto the mattress, still chuckling. Thor has fallen next to him, laughter dying down. Dizzee turns his head to look at him, elegant curve of his chest rising and falling, splattered with blue and white paint.

The entire floor is covered in it, as well as the mattress. Dizzee smiles at that: the mess is part of the fun. He listens as Thor falls asleep, the glowing paint’s spin slowing with his breath, and lets his eyes slip closed.


End file.
